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Comfort Me Now and Then

Comfort food is more than macaroni and cheese. Comfort food is more than meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Comfort food is any dish that you want to return to time and again to re-savor and re-enjoy with friends, family or all alone when you need something to wrap you in warm and familiar flavors. In order to really understand the definition of comfort food (at least mine anyway) is to rely on one simple criterion common to any comfort food experience. It’s gotta make you feel better than you did fifteen minutes ago. Something more and more people are looking for these days. And comfort food is as good and or better for you than comfort booze or comfort heroine. In our collective American psyche our comfort food is more likely to be something like a bowl of Cream of Tomato soup with a buttery Grilled Cheese Sandwich rather than a bowl of chewy tripe and noodles in a clear spicy broth as it's made on the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. Yet both are considered to be comfort food.

Whenever I get immersed in the smell of homemade cookies, it lights up a memory for me of opening the door to the house on a snowy day and getting surrounded by the fragrance of warm chocolate and vanilla. Even the look of a cold glass of milk standing next to a thick slice of Chocolate Cake awakens the feeling of that spectacular day when the little red haired girl with freckles smiled at me for the very first time. I wish I remembered her name as well as I do the cake. Whatever we hold in our bank of pleasant memories, comfort food is made to evoke them in some very personal ways. How we create these memories today has fundamentally changed from the way they were created a generation ago though. Our dining table at home back then was not only the focus of our day, but the landing space where I first saw, smelled and tasted the foods that I’ve come to call comfort food.

But in today’s fragmented world the restaurant table has replaced the dining or kitchen table at home. The fast food restaurant, casual restaurant or neighborhood eatery has become the weekday gathering place for friends and families. That Rockwellian image of a family gathered around platters of home cooked food has been replaced by food in a bucket or a cardboard box. At best it seems homemade dinners these days are quickly prepared from frozen kits or maybe something scooped into a plastic container at the grocery store. Like it or not we’re now more likely to build these memories of special moments with food prepared in a factory or restaurant kitchen. Not a bad deal since it’s been in a one restaurant kitchen or another where I’ve made my career for the last 40 years. So this cultural change has created a whole new genre of comfort food. Cooking at home has now switched places with restaurants in so many of our lives that what was once a special occasion to dine out is now the special occasion to dine in with home cooked food. So unless you want your kids or family to fondly remember you for the time you shared Chicken Fingers at T.G.I. Friday’s  or opened a  bag of pasta and vegetables warmed it in a skillet and called it home cooking, pay attention to the food around you. Wouldn’t it be nice for everyone to have a comfort food or two in their lives worthy of sharing?

By the way I’m writing this with the t.v. on in the background and I just happened to turn to Glenn Beck ranting on about the coming tide of Islamic imperialism. I just wanted to say I’m so tired of the alarmist crap coming out of the mouths of people like Beck, Bachman, Hannity etc. Shut up already and let the grown ups do their work.

Technorati Tags: comfort food,opinion

Cold Green Soup

We arrived after several sweaty hours of riding down country highways in the sun baked old Chrysler. Its fishbowl design not offering much shade. I was ten years old and the luxury of riding in air conditioned comfort was still quite a few years off for our family. We turned off the highway and onto a bumpy dirt road marked only by a hand painted sign leaning on a rusty mailbox. The words " FRESH CORN" and "TOMATO'S" printed in dark paint on white plasterboard. The car lurched to a stop. The dust cloud raised by driving down the unpaved path caught up to us and engulfed our car after just a few short seconds on this bumpy lane. I opened my door and a searing combination of bright un-shaded mid-day sun and swirling dry tan dirt forced my eyes closed as I left the car. I heard the driver's door slam shut. As I wiped the grit from my face and opened my eyes I saw Dad, focused and obviously unfazed by sun or dust, already halfway to the worn whitewashed farm stand. He was on a quest and I was his Sancho Panza. Only this Don Quixote wasn't looking for damsels or windmills, he was on the hunt for a leafy green vegetable he called schav.

Hunting Schav, Sour Grass or fresh sorrel (its more common name) was as much a summer ritual as mowing the lawn or playing golf was to most other Dads. He wasn't completely compulsive about it, just almost. This summertime pursuit was one of my father's lesser known obsessions. He was farm stand junkie anyway and wouldn’t think twice about a half hour detour from his day if it meant it would take him past a farm stand. He had a connection to farm stands that went beyond just the produce I think. These direct sales outlets connected him to a time when as a child his family lived on a farm. We weren't country folk by any stretch of the imagination mind you. Both he and mother were raised on the Westside of Chicago. An as urban and Jewish a neighborhood as you could find outside of Brooklyn. But there was a time in his youth that his family lived on a farm in Michigan and that was enough for him to keep a love of the land for the rest of his days. No matter what job he had, and he had several from what I remember, he would often manage to wind up far enough out in the country sometime during the day to find a farm stand. He would arrive home with a huge smile and armloads filled with bags of sweet corn, tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, cucumbers and such. But his biggest grins came whenever he was able to fetch home, at the height of summer, a cache of the prized schav.

This quest started when he was a young man, with a recipe passed on to him from his mother and continued by him through the years. The recipe was planted in his head by watching her prepare it every year during the sweltering part of summer. She brought this recipe for cold borscht with her from Eastern Europe along with my uncles, Dad’s older brothers, and a satchel of copper pans. The borscht was best made with sorrel but over the years, and with Mom's modern inventions, sorrel had gradually been replaced by ordinary spinach. He learned to love it, but it wasn't the same to him. Every opportunity he had to find the real ingredient, he took it. It was even something he took with him when he and mom retired to Palm Springs, California. His search pattern then would haunt the farm stands and markets of Riverside County and the Imperial Valley. A habit he kept until he was no longer able to drive.

Today, French sorrel as we know it is relatively easy to find. It appears in upscale markets, trendy restaurants and the pages of fashionable food magazines. In fact, it wasn't until many years after our visit to that dusty roadside stand that I finally made the connection of schav to sorrel. I was a young cook in a French restaurant kitchen. The Chef was one of my first mentors and was very happy to teach me every trick and technique he could. One day he was showing me his recipe for a classic French Sorrel Soup. I was busy with another project when he started so didn’t see the preparation. He called me to his stove to explain what he was doing and offered me a spoon. After my first taste I remember shouting out to the amazement of the Chef and kitchen staff around me, "that's Schav".

Technorati Tags: memoir,sorrel,schav

My Stove: Roasted Lemon Mint Chicken

Its been said that a properly roasted chicken is the signature of a great cook. Well, I believe that. But there's no one chicken that fills the bill. The mark of a properly roasted chicken is a crispy skin and moist flavorful meat. And that can only be achieved by following a few simple precepts.

• Warm the chicken at room temperature no more or no less than one hour before roasting
• Pre-heat the oven to 450 degrees (use a thermometer to be sure)
• Season the cavity with salt and pepper at least. Any other flavors are optional.
• Lift the breast skin and stuff the space with fat of some sort, butter, bacon, chicken fat etc.
• Roast at a high temperature for at least 30 minutes, then reduce the heat to no less than 375 degrees until the chicken is done.
• Doneness is 165 degrees at the thigh for safety...but that's up to you.

With that here's my choice for a great roasted chicken.

Roasted Lemon Mint Chicken

Whole Chicken (fryer or roaster...about 3-4 lbs)

Fresh Garlic Cloves

Fresh Mint

Fresh Lemon

Kosher Salt

Fresh Ground Black Pepper

Unsalted Butter

Carrots

Yellow Onion

Preheat an oven to 450 degrees. Choose a roasting pan only slightly larger than the chicken (10-12 inch round pan will do fine). Arrange some onion slices and carrot pieces in the bottom of the pan with a sprig of mint and a clove or two of fresh garlic

Season the cavity of the chicken with salt and pepper. Fill the cavity with mint sprigs, garlic cloves and lemon slices. Tuck the wings under the bird and set it, breast side up, on the cut vegetables.

Lift the breast skin and set 3-4 tablespoons of butter in the space. Season the skin with lemon juice, salt and pepper. Dot with more butter.

Roast for 30 minutes. Reduce the heat to 375 degrees and continue to cook until done. Test the thickest part of the thigh (while not touching the bone) for a temperature of about 165 degrees. Wiggle the legs, they will easily move in their sockets when the chicken is done.

Remove the bird from the oven and let rest about 10-15 minutes before carving. Serve with some of the pan juices basted over the cut chicken.

Technorati Tags: food,foodie,cooking,chicken

My Stove : Hamburger aux Duxelle

Burgers are on everyone’s mind these days. From our favorite greasy diners to the haute tablecloth dining rooms of every star Chef, the burger has become the icon of our culinary age. But before we fell in love with this fashionable meat patty on a bun, we had a long and sturdy relationship with the patriarch of ground meat, the Hamburger Steak. The original “Hamburg” steak first appeared in the late 19^th century American restaurant scene. Then for the next hundred years, the hamburger steak appeared in one form or another on nearly every dinner menu wishing to take itself seriously as a fine place to eat. The dish started out as nothing more than ground beef, a relatively recent invention at the time, typically broiled or pan fried and served with a sauce of mushrooms, onions or both. Over the years it devolved to an overcooked puck swimming in bad brown gravy, a close relative of the Salisbury Steak which is how too many people think of the hamburger steak these days. We’ve lost the art of this one time menu staple. When it was served in the palaces of fine dining, restaurants like Delmonico’s, The Palmer House or later on The Four Seasons, it was elevated to a plate worthy of its environs. During this heyday of the ground beefsteak, there was neither shame nor diminished enjoyment in ordering the Hamburger Steak on one of these menus. Their kitchens gave the Hamburger Steak the same respect and finishing flourish of sauce as its better heeled brother steaks. Chances are, it was probably fresh ground from the same cuts anyway.

Consider this the first salvo in a campaign to reinstate the greatness of the Hamburger Steak. The recipe below combines the richness of a mushroom duxelle, usually reserved for the pastry wrapped Beef Wellington, with a simply seasoned beef patty lightly crusted with breadcrumbs sautéed in a combination of butter and olive oil, a classically continental preparation method.

 

Hamburger Steak aux Duxelle

Hamburger Steak

Ground Chuck, 80% lean

Egg

Kosher Salt

Fresh Ground Black Pepper

For 4 servings plan on 1 ½ pounds of beef combined with 1 or 2 large eggs. Season the mixture, mix well and form into 4 oval patties about ¾ of an inch thick. Cover and keep refrigerated.

Mushroom Duxelle

Mushrooms, Crimini or Baby Portobello

Shallots

Unsalted Butter

Fresh Sage

Fresh Flat Leaf Parsley

Red Wine (Cabernet or Claret)

Heavy Cream

Kosher Salt

Fresh Ground Black Pepper

Dice the mushrooms and shallots fine, ¼ inch or less. One mediums sized shallot and 8 oz of mushrooms will be enough for 4 servings.

Melt the butter in a sauté pan, add the mushrooms and shallots. Cook over medium high heat until the mushroom juices have evaporated completely. Add the parsley and sage (more parsley than sage) and the red wine. Cook until the wine has turned thick and syrupy, then add the cream, salt and pepper. Reduce the cream just until its thickened slightly. Remove the pan from the heat.

Finishing the Hamburger Steak

Unsalted Butter

Olive Oil

Italian Style Plain Breadcrumbs

Kosher Salt

Fresh Ground Black Pepper

Heat the oil and butter in a large sauté pan. Remove the beef patties from the fridge and coat with the seasoned breadcrumbs. Reduce the heat to medium low and cook until the steaks are browned well on one side. Turn and continue to cook on the other side over medium low heat. The object is to get the steak to medium at the same time they are crispy and brown on the outside.

Warm the duxelle briefly. Remove the cooked steaks to a platter and top each with a little duxelle. Serve the remaining duxelle on the side.

Cooking For The Dogs – Part III

Did I say I was living in a house without furniture? Well I really was, almost. There was a bed I would occasionally sleep in and the before mentioned bed side table. Rounding out this palatial suite was a dresser that held a very small black and white T.V. That was it. It was all a guy needed who was working 18-20 hours a day, six and sometimes seven days a week. Sure, this was a large three bedroom house in an upper middle class Chicago suburb. But it certainly wasn’t a typical one. The nuclear family that had lived here, my nuclear family, had begun the late 20th century convention of empty nesting. Only our version just happened to be in reverse. At 19 I stayed home and my parents left. My brother was long gone. He was older and left the nest several years earlier to start his career as a newspaperman. The parents, after lifetimes of snow, sleet and struggling to finish and furnish Mr. Blanding's dream house, all of a sudden it seemed decided to pick up and move to the sunny climes of the California desert. So here I was, left in a big suburban house with only three pieces of furniture all in one room.

But what the hell did I need with a couch, dining table and all that other stuff people would normally have around a house? I certainly wasn’t going to dust it. And who the hell was I going to entertain. Did I mention I worked 18-20 hours a day? Whoever came over could sit on the stairs or the floor. Besides, the few friends who bothered to keep in touch that year knew there was no furniture in the house and came prepared for the non-traditional decorating plan. They also knew when I’d probably be at home. If I wasn’t at work, I was probably going to be sleeping on the one piece of furniture in the house where I could do that. So they would just pop by, usually after midnight. There was no calling first…that would have been a waste of time. If it wasn’t 5:00 a.m and it was my Chef was on the other end calling, I probably wouldn’t answer the phone anyway. Besides, this was way before answering machines or cell phones. Hell this way before anything. How did we live being so out of touch?

The only difficult part about their adventure of just showing up at my door was to wake me up. The doorbell was good. Banging on the door was better, but that would piss off the neighbors and nobody wanted to bring that kind of attention down on a probable illegal activity. (There was probably some surreptitiously obtained cheap wine and marijuana involved) So they used the doorbell like an alarm. I’d be awakened by the persistent ringing of the melodious chime like doorbell my mother was so proud of. The day my dad installed it she bent down to me and whispered with an enormous grin on her face “Isn’t that elegant”. And now my friends were using this elegant Big Ben imitation to annoy the crap out of me so I’d let them in.

Now in Skokie, as in any mid-American suburb in the seventies, there wasn’t a whole lot to do for the typical young adult other than drink illegally, smoke illegal substances or just hang out with your friends. (yes if your thinking it sounds a lot like“That 70’s Show” then your correct…it was). After all we were nearly a quarter century away from any Starbucks, Lifetime Gyms or multiplex theaters. Cable T.V. was still glimmer in some exec’s business plan and the guys I hung with didn’t have the money to party downtown on Rush Street yet. Besides the disco inferno was still just a small brush fire and none of us had discovered the fertile hunting grounds of polyester clad women under a shimmering rotating ball. So when it was party time, we’d grab a bag of weed from our favorite dealer (usually an old high school pal who it seemed discovered shortly after graduation the glory of marijuana and the tax free money that came along with it) and pay a visit to “our” liquor store on Howard St. This tiny store sat on the northern border of Chicago, Evanston was a dry town and there weren’t very many liquor stores in the heavily Jewish suburb of Skokie. We’d been buying our fizzy fruit wine and budget beer there since one of us could grow facial hair. In the summer the party would usually end up at the beach, until the cops cruised by, or in colder weather someone’s apartment or better yet…the empty house where someone’s parents happened to be gone. That was me!!

One late night, a kind of girlfriend showed up at my door with a bag of groceries and actually made me dinner. After several breaks for ...well you know, we finally ate about 3:00 a.m. That was a rare treat. Not the sex, but the food. Most of the people I hung with expected me to cook for them.  On one of those rare evenings when I wasn’t at work mopping the kitchen floor or peeling a pot full of vegetables, I happened to be home at the rare time of 9:00 p.m. and in bed with the same kind of girlfriend who cooked when the chimes started sounding. Since I was already being very nicely entertained and in no mood for the guys, cheap wine or their funny cigarettes, I ignored it. Only this time the ringing wasn't as persistent and came with polite sounding knocks instead of the typical raucous bangs of the young adult male with a buzz on.  

Suspiciously I got out of bed and padded barefoot across the hall to my old bedroom that faced the street. The blinds were open. (The blinds were always open giving the house that abandoned look I guess the neighbors must have really hated me for) Looking down on the driveway I saw the police car. The bell started its four tone track again and my heart leaped into my throat. ITS THE COPS!

Cooking For The Dogs – Part II

The phone is ringing. The phone is ringing. Damn it, the phone is ringing.

Most mornings during my apprenticeship to Chef John Snowden, this was the first sound I’d hear to drag me out of a beautiful solid sleep. The annoying shrill of the tiny bell in the 1960's powder blue Princess phone perched on my bed stand. The ring of this hand-me-down was only slightly louder than the beeping alarm of the clock radio sitting next to it on the small table. A table already loaded with books, an overflowing ashtray, a lamp with Chinese letters and figures in relief up and down it’s thick body and a shade torn from a recent shove over the edge. All of these, except the cigarette butts in the tray, were leftovers’ from my parents bedroom. Because that’s where I was sleeping. I was 19 and I hadn’t left home…my parents had, and this was the only room in the house with furniture. 

The alarm, which I always managed to sleep through, should have been enough. But both noises working together pushed their way into the finale of what ever dream I was deeply involved in. The pitch of the phone was just annoying enough to get me to open my eyes and bring the dream to a screeching stop. I reached for the phone and with every ounce of effort I could muster, Clearing my throat, I set my voice to sound as if I’d been up for hours. “Hello”, I said as cheerily as I thought it should sound. "You're Late" was the only thing the voice on the other side would say before he hung up. My awake sounding voice was never enough. Each time I’d hope he'd believe that I'd been up and delayed by some horrific accident in the bathroom that might allow me to stay in bed a few hours longer. But I never got the chance. "You're Late" was the only exchange to my "Hello" then a mechanical click and the buzz of a phone line gone dead. It was 5:00 a.m. and I was supposed to be there already.

If I had managed to roll in awake and ready for work (which I did every fourth or fifth day, by the way) my 5:00 a.m. duties would be to warm the ovens, make or reheat (John was notorious spendthrift) a pot of coffee. Then I would roll out and shape 4 dozen croissant. They had to rise about an hour in the warming kitchen before I could bake them. So there was a  real reason I had to be there by 5:00 a.m. The twelve morning students for John’s cooking class were due in about 10 a.m. and John insisted there be warm croissant ready for each as they arrived. There needed to be one ready for John's assistant/secretary/paramour, Diane, who arrived about 9:00 a.m. Two for John when he returned from walking his Afghan hounds about 8:30 a.m. One for me and the rest were displayed in a small bakery case at the front of the school for sale to the students to take home after class or to sell to the counter girls at the butcher shop next door. Occasionally I’d have to put a few aside for an afternoon meeting John and Diane might have with a potential catering client. But late in the day John would usually send me across the street with a small bag of 3 or 4 getting hard or no longer fresh rolls to the old German couple who lived above the old train station. He was our handyman and she would do John’s laundry on occasion when her arthritis didn't get in the way.

But that was on a normal day. And since I was always late...there were very few normal days.

Technorati Tags: memoir,foodoirr

Cooking For The Dogs – Part I

Technorati Tags: food memoir,foodoir

The moment I walked into the parlor of the cooking school; I felt at home in a place I had never been. Sitting behind a large mahogany desk, strewn with books and papers, was a large black man in a white Chef's coat with a snow-white beard and a shock of white hair accentuated by a widow's peak. He welcomed me with a Santa like twinkle in his eye and an enormous toothy grin. I gently grabbed the hand for a quick and polite shake. His hand crushed mine in return with an intense yet friendly power.

This very charismatic and unique man was John Snowden and I was in his cooking school for Francophiles or anyone else interested in food. He also ran a semi-legal catering business that specialized in home parties to the elite North Shore set of Chicago. I was there to talk about taking classes. I was twenty years old and at a point in my career where I wanted to stop working in pizza joints and get a job in a real restaurant. As we talked he discovered that I was very interested in making cooking a career. He asked if I had considered becoming a chef. I immediately said yes, not knowing at the time what that meant or even what the difference was between a chef and a cook. He took this affirmation as an opportunity to enter into a long dissertation on the life of a chef. He painted a colorful picture of the hard work, long hours, and often, poor working conditions. He also told stories of great dinner parties, cooking for royalty, being in charge of a battalion of cooks and other chefs. He also spoke of the great chefs in history, names I had never heard before, like Tallevant, Careme, Escoffier and Point. I had just come off a three-year crusade of partying and having as much fun as possible while personally trying to end the war in Vietnam through protests and speeches. I was hooked by his fables. I had never imagined the world of cooking and kitchens to be so full of traditions and artistic challenges. I was caught in the rapture of a world I never knew existed and found it very comfortable to be there.

He must have sensed this, because I barely said a word during his narrative. He ended his oration with an offer for me to become his apprentice. He explained how I would learn far more as his apprentice than I would by merely taking classes. Most of the class sessions were geared towards home cooks and the basics they needed to be able to cook like a Frenchman. If I were to become his apprentice, not only would I attend every one of these classes, but I would also take part in the advanced classes for people who wanted to learn specialty cooking like sauce making or pastry. And then there were his catering jobs. These were mostly grand dinner parties in private homes where we would prepare the classics of French cuisine. He explained that this education wouldn't cost me a dime. In return for this fabulous gift I would work for him by keeping the kitchen clean and help him prepare and serve food for parties. If I was up to the work, he guaranteed I would walk away from this experience with a knowledge of cooking that would let me into any kitchen anywhere in the world. Without the slightest trepidation I eagerly agreed and shook his powerful two and half fingered hand to seal the deal.

We talked for another hour, or should I say he talked, about what it was to be an apprentice. I had an idea what an apprentice was but knew very little about the details of this particular position. In order to set the tone for my education he described his own experience as an apprentice in France under the great Fernand Point of La Pyramide in Varenne.(The very same restaurant to train Paul Bocuse many years later.) Chef Snowden, though he insisted I call him John, had left his home at the tender age of fourteen and traveled to France to become an apprentice. He worked in the kitchens of La Pyramide for four years as an apprentice before leaving for his first job as a full-fledged cook. During his apprenticeship he was not allowed to touch food for the first year. He would clean the kitchen, the dining rooms, tend the garden and look after Madame Point's dogs. This should have sent a clear message to me about my near future. But, I was so enthralled with this man and his stories, he was so charming and charismatic, that I put my apprehensions aside and felt welcome in this New World I was about join.

Mom's Day Recipes...for the last minute guys

I know the fishing opener, baseball, the economy and hundreds other reasons probably got in the way...but you gotta do something for the missus or Mom tomorrow. There's no way out of it. So if you haven't made brunch recipes (and fat chance you'll find any now), or you want to save some change and do something at home. Here are some easy, and fancy, recipe that will make her think you scoured the food mags for weeks looking for just the right dish.

SAMBUCCA BROILED GRAPEFRUIT

Serves 8

4 large Pink Grapefruit

4 pinches Salt

1 tsp. Vanilla Extract

4 tsp. Sambucca Liqueur* (optional)

4 Tbsp. Brown Sugar

2 Tbsp. Unsalted Butter, cut into 8 thin slices

8 each Maraschino Cherries

Preheat the oven broiler to 500° F.

Cut the grapefruit into halves along the equator. Using a grapefruit knife (or any very sharp small knife), cut around the outside perimeter and all the sections (removing the core) to enable easy eating by your guests.

Place the prepared grapefruit halves onto a baking sheet with low sides. Cut a thin slice off the base of each one to make sure they all sit evenly.

Sprinkle the salt evenly on each grapefruit half. Pour the vanilla into a small glass and brush evenly over the grapefruit halves. Pour the Sambucca Liqueur over the grapefruit halves and then sprinkle the sugar over the grapefruit as evenly as possible. Dot with the butter.

Place the pan under the broiler and broil for 3 to 5 minutes, watching carefully.

Place a maraschino cherry into the core area of each half and serve immediately or at room temperature. These are also good as leftovers.

 

SWISS CHARD AND PROSCIUTTO BREAD PUDDING

Serves 8

12 slices Firm white bread, trimmed & cubed
2 cups Swiss Chard, chopped coarse and blanched
4 oz. Prosciutto ham, diced
2 cups Provolone, shredded

¼ cup Fresh Basil, shredded

¼ cup Italian flat parsley, chopped
6 large Eggs, slightly beaten
3 1/2 cups Milk
3/4 tsp. Kosher Salt
1/2 tsp. White Pepper

Bring 2 quarts of lightly salted water to a boil Add the Swiss chard. Return the pot to a boil and remove from the heat immediately. Drain the Swiss chard and cool immediately in a bowl of ice water. As soon as the chard, is cool, drain and squeeze dry.

Cover bottom of buttered 9 x 13 inch pan with 1/2 bread cubes. Layer Swiss chard, ham and cheese over bread. Top with half the herbs and remaining bread cubes. Combine eggs, milk, salt and pepper. Pour over bread pudding. Cover and refrigerate 2 hours or overnight. Bake at 350° until a knife comes out clean, 55 to 60 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes and cut into squares.

Download and Print Mom's Day Recipes

Fancy Charcoal Grilling and Smoking Recipes

CHARCOAL

The Old Days: Years ago, charcoal was prepared by placing pieces of wood piled on end in rows in a shape like a cone. This pile was then covered with dirt or moist ashes with holes left in the top for a chimney and at the bottom for air to enter. The wood was then allowed to burn very slowly. When completely burned, the holes were then covered and the pile of wood was allowed to cool. This method was not as effective as is today and only yielded about 20% pure charcoal.

Charcoal consists primarily of amorphous carbon and ash. This carbon consists of tiny, irregularly arranged particles of graphite, which is almost pure carbon. It also has some other impurities consisting of sulfur and hydrogen compounds. It is partially burned or charred wood thus the name charcoal.

Charcoal consists of carbon full of porous, or many tiny holes, which assist in complete and thorough burning of the substance.

Charcoal consists of wood which has been heated to high temperatures in ovens while restricting the available amount of air. If oxygen was available, the wood would naturally burn up and that would be the end of this story. But, such is not the case.

When the wood is heated, the wood chemically decomposes and releases gases and tars which are saved as by-products. The resulting product is charcoal which is almost a pure form of carbon. The charcoal when burned releases an even hot flame, no smoke and burns almost completely. The only residue is a little ash. No smoke. It takes approximately 4 pounds of wood to make a little more than 1 pound of charcoal.

So far, I have been talking about pure charcoal. Some of the more popular "charcoal" manufactures do not use exclusively charcoal. They blend their charcoal with by-products (which we will refer to as "extenders") thus extending the amount of appeared charcoal. You can tell the difference quite easily. Most briquettes consist of extenders. After the fire has been burned, take a look at the ashes. If there is a heaviness when cleaning out the ashes, then you are probably removing clay and other particles called extenders. If on the other hand, the ashes are light and almost want to float away when disturbed, then you have been burning true charcoal.

CHIPS (WOOD)

Unless you have a forest next to your house, there will be inherent expenses incurred in obtaining your cooking wood. If you had all the wood you needed, the ideal method of cooking with even and consistent temperatures would be to have a second fire located next to your smoke-cooker. This fire would be your source for coals. You would burn the actual wood in this second fire and, when needed, take a shovel, scoop up the required hot coals and add them to the grill or smoker. This method would all but eliminate flare ups and out of control fires while at the same time, insure even cooking temperatures.

Since this is not possible in most cases, many folks have resorted to using smaller pieces of wood to add the flavor without necessarily focusing on creating the heat. For example many use small wood chips, soak them in water and place them on the fire. As the water evaporates and the wood begins to burn slowly, the smoke flavoring from the burning wood flavors the meat.

There are many different sizes of wood chips, but for the sake of convenience, we will be discussing the three basic sizes:

Large - really too large to be called "chips"; rough cut and about the size of a softball
Medium - again rough cut and about the size of a rubber stamp
Small - Shavings really, larger than sawdust.

The large size, in addition to creating smoke, is large enough to also create heat. We would not necessarily soak these in water before using. Instead, simply place one on the fire as needed to keep the source of heat active. You must, however, have a sufficient source of heat already established before using these wood "chips".

Of the three, the medium chips are the most common and area usually available at the grocery store in the charcoal section. They are not really large enough to be a source of heat, however are sufficient to create the necessary smoke to flavor the meat. We suggest soaking these pieces of wood for 2 to 4 hours prior to use. After you have created the heat source in the grill or smoker, place a handful of these wood chips on the coals. They will hiss and simmer and as they slowly begin to dry and smolder, will create the needed smoke. Some folks will wrap the chips in heavy duty aluminum foil and puncture holes in the foil. After which they will place this bundle on the fire. The chips will also smolder and create the smoke needed.

Finally, the small chips are best used for making smoke in the gas grills. These chips are placed in a smoker box and the box is then placed over the gas burners. The smoker box is a cast iron box with a removable lid. The lid has several slits in the top to allow the smoke to escape. The wood chips smolder inside the box and you then have your smoke! The box could, I guess be used in wood grills and smoker, but the thing is somewhat heavy and would have a tendency to settle into the coals. It would then be difficult to add more wood/coals to the fire without having to take out the box first.

As you have seen, there are direct uses for each and as such, will deliver different and unique grilling and smoke-cooking opportunities. Good luck and most importantly, don't hurry and be sure to have fun!

GRILLED SHRIMP CHIMICHURRI

Serves 6

2 To 10 cloves garlic, peeled And coarsely chopped

1 Red jalapeno pepper, stemmed Seeded and coarsely chopped

1/4 cup Fresh oregano leaves

1 cup Fresh parsley leaves

1/4 cup Red-wine or sherry vinegar

1/2 cup Olive oil

1/2 Tsp. Kosher Salt

1 1/2 LB Jumbo Shrimp in the shell

Prepare the garlic. Traditionally this is a garlicky sauce, but the amount of garlic you use is up to you. Combine the garlic and jalapeno in a food processor and mince finely. Add the oregano and parsley and pulse to a fine chop. Add the vinegar, olive oil and salt, processing until smooth and emulsified. (The sauce can be used immediately; or pour into a jar, cover and refrigerate until ready to use. Just remember to let it warm to room temperature before serving)

Remove about 1/3 cup of the sauce to use as a baste for the shrimp. Butterfly the shrimp along the back and remove the vein. Place the shrimp, shell side down, on a well-oiled grill, 4 to 6 inches from the source of heat. Baste and flip then baste again. Cook about 3 to 4 minutes per side, or until the shrimp are pink and cooked through. Serve with the remaining sauce on the side.

The sauce can also be used with beef, chicken or pork.

FIRE ROASTED PEPPERS, EGGPLANTS AND ZUCCHINI

Serves 6

1 Red Pepper

1 Yellow Pepper

1 Eggplant

1-2 Zucchini

½ cup Virgin Olive Oil

1-5 cloves Garlic, sliced

Salt and Pepper to taste

Wash and dry vegetables. Partially peel eggplant, in strips, and then slice ½ inch thick lengthwise. Slice the zucchini ½ inch as well. Place all the vegetables over a wood or charcoal fire that has begun to die down. Turn all the vegetables until slightly charred on all sides. Open the peppers and remove the seeds, then cut in large wedges. Place all the vegetables on a serving platter and dress with the oil, garlic, salt and pepper. Serve at room temperature.

SMOKED RED SNAPPER OREGANATA

Serves 4-6

1 Whole Red Snapper 3-5 lbs., gutted and scaled

½ cup fresh Oregano packed

1 Lemon

¼ cup Olive Oil

Kosher Salt and Pepper to taste

Trim the sharp top fin with a kitchen shears then make 3 –4 shallow slits in each side of the fish.

Season the fish with salt and pepper inside and out. Tear the Oregano with your fingers and rub some into the slits in the fish then place the remainder on the inside of the fish. Cut the lemon in half and squeeze the juice all over the fish, place the lemon halves inside the fish. Brush both sides of the fish with oil.

Add some soaked wood chips to the coals 1 minute before placing the fish in a well-oiled fish grill and place over the moderate smoking fire. Close the lid and cook about 8 minutes per side. Place the cooked fish on a serving platter and dress with the remaining oil. Serve with lemon wedges

Grilled Angel Food Cake with Banana Rum Salsa

Serves 4

4 slices Angel Food Cake, 1 ½ - 2 inches thick

1 recipe Banana Rum Salsa

1 recipe Whipped Cream

Clean the grill well with a brush and wipe with a lightly oiled towel. Grill each piece of cake over medium coals until toasted and well marked on both sides. This will take under a minute per side. Set each piece on a plate and top with the salsa and whipped cream.

Banana Rum Salsa

Serves 4

1 cup slightly under ripe Banana, diced

1 Tbsp. Lemon Juice

2 Tbsp. Sugar, superfine

2 tsp. Mint. diced fine

3-4 Tbsp. Dark Rum

Combine the ingredients and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Whipped Cream

Makes 4 cups

2 Cups Heavy cream

4 Tbsp. Sugar, superfine

1 1/2 Tbsp. Vanilla Extract

Whip the cream with the sugar and vanilla. Keep very cold for serving.

Download and Print Fancy Grilling Recipes

 

The Cult of Bacon

In the twelfth century, a church in the English town of Dunmow promised a side of bacon to any married man who could swear before the congregation and God that he had not quarreled with his wife for a year and a day. A husband who could bring home the bacon was held in high esteem by the community for his forbearance. So what's changed?

We are in a cult of bacon. We seek its smoky meaty goodness as reward for "forbearing" all manner bad news hurled at us daily from our politicians, our bosses, nutritionists and even PETA. Bacon is no longer reserved for the myth of Sunday morning breakfast. It's now ubiquitous in our immediate gratification society. It's popping up in martinis, in ice cream and even chocolate covered at the great state fair.

Consider this nothing more than a hodgepodge collection of odd bacon facts;

A VERY UNSCIENTIFIC TASTING:

Niman Ranch Uncured Bacon - $6.79/12 oz (Alameda, Ca)

Salty with a full smoke aroma, and milder smoke flavor. Shrunk a lot after cooking

Nueskes Bacon - 7.95/12oz (Wittenberg, Wi)

Intense smoke aroma during cooking, however came through with a salty flavor bearing little or no smoke to the palatte. Normal amount of slice shrink.

Thielen Bacon - 8.35/16 oz. (Pierz, Mn)

Less salt with good smoke and surprising crunch not found in the other samples. Quite a bit of shrinkage.

 

Cuts of bacon

The names of rashers or slices differ depending on where they are cut from:

• Streaky bacon comes from the belly of a pig. It is very fatty with long veins of fat running parallel to the rind. This is the most common form of bacon in the United States.
• Pancetta is Italian streaky bacon, smoked or aqua (un-smoked), with a strong flavor. It is generally rolled up into cylinders after curing.
• Back bacon comes from the loin in the middle of the back of the pig. It is a lean meaty cut of bacon, with relatively less fat compared to other cuts and has a ham-like texture and flavor. Most bacon consumed in the United Kingdom is back bacon. Also called Irish bacon or Canadian Bacon.
• Middle bacon is much like back bacon but is cheaper and somewhat fattier, with a richer flavor.
• Cottage bacon is thinly sliced lean pork meat from a shoulder cut that is typically oval shaped and meaty. It is cured and then sliced into round pieces for baking or frying.
• Jowl bacon is cured and smoked cheeks of pork

Bacon joints include the following:

• Collar bacon is taken from the back of a pig near the head.
• Hock, from the hog ankle joint between the ham and the foot.
• Gammon, from the hind leg, traditionally "Wiltshire cured".
• Picnic bacon is from the picnic cut, which includes the shoulder beneath the blade.^[7] It is fairly lean, but tougher than most pork cuts.

 

THE FUNNIEST MAN CHILD ON HIS BACON OBSESSION:

 

NEW WAYS TO GET YOUR BACON ON:

 

Bacon Salt

An innovtive product that lets you get the taste of bacon just about anywhere salt goes, vegetables, popcorn, steaks etc. For the bacon maven who can't ever be too far from bacon.

 

BACONNAISE

An all natural, all vegetable mayonnaise product with the smell and taste of bacon. The ultimate

 

BACON PORN:

The Bacon Bra

Bacon Steak

 

BACON BLOGS:

Bacon Unwrapped  - Dennis Leary's bacon rant, plus other baconamania

Bacon Today - The Daily News of Bacon

Bacon Lover's Talk (BLT) - The lively home of the worldwide bacon community (Who knew there were bacon lovers on Fiji)

The Bacon Show - A new bacon recipe daily...forever

 

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